


It started with detention

by Luna_is_baby



Category: Clone High
Genre: Bullying, Detention, Himbo JFK (Clone High), M/M, Panic Attacks, Slow Burn, gandhi is mean
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-08
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:46:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27958607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luna_is_baby/pseuds/Luna_is_baby
Summary: JFK meets Vincent in detention
Relationships: JFK & Vincent Van Gogh (Clone High), JFK/Vincent Van Gogh (Clone High)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 54





	1. Oh fuck

3rd person POV

Van Gogh’s mind worked fast as he tried to figure out how he was going to escape the crowded hallways. He dodged a group of people huddled together and he swiftly steers clear of the jocks to avoid getting shoved into a locker. His vision blurs as the salty liquid fills his eyes. He takes a sharp turn into an empty classroom, closing the door silently behind him. 

He slumps down onto the floor taking deep breaths struggling to contain his panic attack. He tries to focus on something to hopefully find a grip on reality. He sees a pencil on the ground and decides to place his attention on to it. He picks it up and starts observing it while choking on a sob.

The eraser on the end of it was almost non-existent. The metal bit was obviously chewed on and deformed. The yellow outside was chipped. The tip was dull and could used a sharpening or two. But the most noticeable thing about the writing utensil was the letters ‘JFK’ written on the side of it. It was faded but it was definitely there. 

He takes a few more deep breaths and his heart rate slows down a bit. He wipes the tears and snot from his face onto the sleeve of his sweater. 

He wouldn’t be this situation if it wasn’t for Gandhi. You would think that a clone of one of history’s most peaceful people would be kind, you would be wrong though. In Van Gogh’s eyes he is the worst person on earth. 

Usually he could put up with Gandhi’s tricks but this was to far, even for him. Gandhi had destroyed all of his paintings in the art room. He had also somehow gotten into his locker and stole his anxiety medication. How could he do this? He knew Gandhi was mean but this was something else. 

The school bell rung and he could here the hallways emptying as people shuffled to there classes. He stayed put because he knew he couldn’t go to class in this state. His eyes were red and anyone with eyes would’ve known he was crying. 

He didn’t care if he missed class this time. He had much worse to deal with. He snuck out of the classroom and into the cold and empty hallway. It was silent. Every step he took could be heard from across the school. He was careful not to accidentally squeak his shoes on the tile floor as he made his way over to the bathroom to wash up. 

He nudged the door open and slid right on in. The bathrooms at clone high weren’t terrible but they still weren’t fun to be in. He rolled up his sleeves. Water flowed from the faucet and into his cupped hands. He brings the tap water up to his face and splashes it on, being careful not to get himself too wet. Small drops of water hung on his eyelashes and slid off when he closed his eyes. He grabbed a paper towel and wiped his face dry. He looked in the mirror, he was content with what he saw.

Now, he was going to have to either wait till school ended so he could leave ,or escape somehow. This was going to be hard ,but school just started and he wasn’t going to wait that long just to leave, he would probably be found if he stayed anyways. He had to leave. His teacher probably didn’t notice he was missing anyways. Van Gogh was ignored most of the time and went unnoticed in general ,But if he were to get caught outside of class he would be 6 feet deep in trouble. He didn’t want that.

Slipping himself out of bathroom and into the cold hallway once again, he tried to find an exit. The moment he stepped into the hallway he felt on edge. Someone was there, probably principal Scudworth looking for someone to punish. He could here foot steps coming from behind him. He ran, he didn’t care how loud he was at that moment, he wasn’t thinking. He was in panic His heart beat sped up and hammered through his chest. The foot steps grew louder and louder. 

“Hey, young man!” Scudworth’s shrill voice echoed down the hallway.

He saw the same empty classroom he was in before to his right. He grabbed the door nob, turned it, throwing himself into the classroom, he locked the door behind him. He felt dizzy and overwhelmed, a rush of realization came over him. He had just ran away from authority, He was so deep into this mess He didn’t think it’s possible to find a way out. He should just accept defeat before He goes too far. He take a deep breath and unlocks the door, opening it slowly.

“I knew you would come to your senses at one point, detention today after school. Return to your class now.”

Scudworth walked away back down the hall to wherever the hell he came from. 

“That went better than expected?” Van Gogh said quietly under his breath, making his way back to class. He sheepishly enter and took his seat. Everyone looked at him. He tried to avoid eye contact. He spent the rest of his time in class predicting what would happen next. 

— time skip—

The last bell of the day rings and He heads for the detention room. He felt like his peers’ eyes were piercing into his soul. He felt like everyone was watching him. All he wanted was to disappear at that very moment. He finally arrived at the detention room no one else was there except the teacher in charge of the detention room today, Mr. Sheepman.

“you’re usually not the type to be here, what are you doing here?” Mr. sheepman questioned.

“I don’t know” Van Gogh shrugged, He wasn’t sure if that was the appropriate response to a question made by a teacher ,but He really wasn’t in the mood to try any harder to explain what happened.

The teacher looked at him for a second. Then went back to doing whatever he was doing before the Vincent came in.

A few minutes later Joan arrives. Van Gogh wonders what she did. He remembers painting that mural of Gandhi for her, but other than that, He didn’t really know her that well. 

A few other highschoolers arrive who He assumes are JFK, Caesar, and some other clone he didn't know the name of.

JFK sits right next to Gogh and his buddy Caesar sits next to him. Joan is seated all the way on the other side of the classroom give me a JFK dirty looks. John probably deserved it.

JFK turned and whispered to something to Caesar. Caesar punched JFK on the shoulder jokingly. JFK stood up and turned towards Van Gogh leaning down and crossing his arms on the redhead’s desk so he was level with him.

“Hey, little art man” it sounded flirty but that couldn’t possibly be true, JFK only liked girls, right?

“H-hi” he stuttered out. The smaller boy shifted farther back into his seat. Trying not to look the jock in the eyes. JFK was showing off his stupid celebrity smile. Van Gogh hated that fake smile. He didn’t know why but It made him feel things that he didn’t like. He was sure that the only reason john was talking to him was because something Caesar said. This was probably a trick. They were going to do something to hurt him, he knew this.

“What did you ,er ,do to get here?”

“I made a mistake, that’s all. No need to bother me” he mumbled out, looking down at his shoes as if they were the most interesting thing in the world.

“I’ll tell you what I ,er uh ,did if you tell me what you did”

“Okay I guess, you go first,” he wasn’t sure why he agreed. He was a little bit curious on why John was in detention, so I guess that’s was a good enough reason in his eyes.

JFK’s voice lowered to a whisper 

“Okay, I ,er uh , was caught drinking on school campus” 

“That’s illegal! shouldn’t you be in more trouble than just detention?”

“I guess Scudworth ,uh ,doesn’t care that much. Anyway, what did you do?”

Van Gogh knew scudworth was insane so he wasn’t sure why this surprised him.

“I skipped class, and then tried to escape school” he said. His chest bubbled with nervousness as he waited for a response. His face felt warm with embarrassment.

“Cool, I ,er uh ,expected worse” he smiled at the artist, leaning closer to him. Van Gogh could feel his cheeks flush with emotion.

“Oh, I- um that’s cool?” His voice cracked and he felt his palms start to sweat. Why did he say that? That made no sense. 

Before JFK could say anything else Mr. Sheepman told the class to get back in their seats. Van Gogh was relived that the teacher stopped him from making anymore of fool of himself than he already had. He readjusted himself into his seat and looked toward the teacher for the next task.

“Now that all of you have taken you’re seats, I would like for you to now sit in silence and think about what you’ve done, or something” Mr. Sheepman obviously didn’t care all that much and was just following orders from principal Scudworth. He went back to grading papers occasionally looking up to see if anybody was misbehaving.

After a minute of silence he felt a sudden rush of tiredness come over him from all the emotional shit he was put through. His head felt heavy and his eyelids were struggling to stay open. He crossed his arms on his desk and placed his head into them. A few minutes later Van Gogh was no longer awake. 

Little did the artist know that the jock was watching him. JFK didn’t quite know why he attempted to flirt with him. Caesar said he should do it to be funny, but John knows deep down he didn’t do it just for that, but he didn’t want to confront that yet. He’s has always been a womanizing stud who had sex with just about anyone he wanted. But this was different, he wasn’t sure what it was, but it was different. He kept on constantly glancing at the tired boy next to him. He decided what he was going to do. JFK took a piece of paper and a pencil. He jotted down a few things and then crumbled the paper up. He tossed it over to Van Gogh hoping it would wake him up. 

Lucky for JFK it worked. Gogh’s head shot up into the air. He looked around in a daze and then returned to reality fully. He saw the crumbled up piece of paper and picked it up. He did what any normal person would do. He smoothed out the paper so he could read it. 

“Wanna be friends?

-from JFK”

He turned it over and spotted a phone number on the back of the damaged paper. Did JFK really want to be friends with him? That can’t be true, why would he wanna do that? Van Gogh stared at the paper as JFK waited for an answer. All of a sudden the last bell of the day rings telling everyone it’s time to get out of the school. JFK stood up and turned to Van Gogh saying to call him later. JFK then left leaving Vincent to sit there and wonder what this all meant.


	2. Oh shit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh shit, oh fuck

Van Gogh arrives at home, his heart was racing. He runs up the stairs to his room and slams his door shut. He throws himself onto his bed and screams into his pillow. Thoughts whizzed around in his head. All he could think about was JFK. Why did John give him his number. John had never shown interest in Vincent, so why would he now want to talk to him. 

Van Gogh was convinced this was a trick to make a fool of himself. If he was being honestly with himself, he really did want to call JFK, just so he could have someone to talk to ,but he couldn’t take another prank, it would break him. He couldn’t do it. He wouldn’t call JFK, this was definitely a trick. A mean cruel joke to make fun of the sad friendless artist. 

Tears were threatening to spill out of his eyes. He was so stupid for even thinking that anyone would want to be friends with him. He felt so lost and scared. Stupid thoughts were slipping into his mind leading him down a never ending spiral of misery.

*bzz bzz bzz bzz*

A low humming sound emitted from his bag. He dragged himself across his paint stained floor. He dropped down next to his bag. He retrieved his phone from is it. He squinted as he peered down at the dimly lit screen. He answered the call.

“H- hello?”

“Hi, is this ,er ,Van Gogh”

“Yea?” Right away Gogh knew this was John.

“Cool, hi”

“Hi, um how did you get my number?”

“I, er uh, asked Joan”

Vincent forgot that Joan knew his number. He called the hotline so much it would be more surprising if she didn’t know it.

“Oh, why did you call me?”

“Because you didn’t” a soft laugh left John lips.

“Oh, sorry I was going to do that, ha” that was a lie.

“Well, er, I was wondering if you would like to meet up sometime soon”

“Oh, uhh, sure. I’ve got time”

“Cool how about tomorrow after school?”

“Sounds fine, but, um, quick question.”

“Yea?”

“Why do you wanna hang out with me?”

JFK wasn’t sure why, so he said the first thing that came to mind.

“You look interesting”

Van Gogh did not expect that at all. He didn’t know what he expected to be fair. He was still flustered nonetheless.

“Oh, uh, that’s nice, uh, of you to say?” 

A moment of silence and awkwardness occurred between them. Neither of the boys knew what to say next.

“Well I got to go” Vincent spit out before ending the call abruptly.

He sunk his face into his pillow.

Meanwhile JFK stared into the wall. Why was Van Gogh so scared of him? Was Vincent actually scared of him? Maybe he was coming on to strong and needed to back up a few steps. John may be a dumbass ,but he could tell when someone was uncomfortable. He sighed and walked down to his kitchen, maybe his two dads would know what to do.

“Hi, dads”

“Yea sugar, What’s up?” 

JFK never really came to talk to his dads unless he needed help, so they knew something was wrong when he came down the stairs without being called.

“I have this problem, I want to be friends with this shy kid but I ,er ,think I might be scaring him away.”

Wally nods

“Well, you could try asking someone else who knows the boy better than you to tell him you want to be friends” Wally suggested.

“Maybe, but I kinda wanna do it, er, myself to be honest” he let out a sigh and sat there a little disappointed.

“You could still try to talk to him, baby. You just have to be more aware of how big you are. He’s probably a little bit intimidated.”

“I think he ,er ,is. Well thanks anyway dads” he went back to his bad room a bit disappointed but still hopeful. He was going to try and make a good impression on Van Gogh. He didn’t know how, yet, but he had some ideas. He smiled to himself, he was going to win Vincent’s heart.


	3. Oh damn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh fuck oh shit oh damn

Vincent woke up to the sound of small objects being thrown against his window. The clock said it was 6:14, he should probably start getting ready for school. He threw on his classic blue sweater and peaked out his window to see who it was. His eyes widened with disbelief. 

‘How did he find my house?’ He thought 

Oh no, this was terrible. It was Gandhi, and... is that Joan?

Vincent swung the curtains shut so he wouldn’t have to see that stupid boy’s face. He ignored the pebbles scratching up his window and got ready for school as if it were any other day. He appeared at his front door a few minutes later.

“What the hell do you want, Gandhi” he shouted angrily at the person in question.

“He came to apologize” said Joan looking pissed, as usual.

“I honestly don’t care the much about the paintings, they weren’t that good. I’m more upset about my fucking medication. Why did you do it anyway?” Said Van Gogh looking as angry as he felt.

“well, I destroyed the paintings because Picasso said he would pay me if I did. I took the medication because I found it when looking for more paintings to break, and I wanted to try it.” Said Gandhi picking at his nails, obviously not interested in being here.

Joan kicked him is the leg.

“Owww-, oh, and sorry I guess” he said with little to no remorse in the statement.

“Whatever, can I have my meds back now?”

“Sure” Gandhi said tossing the half empty bottle of pills at him. Vincent fumbled with the bottle before getting a steady hold of it.

Gandhi walks away, probably towards school. Joan consider committing a crime against Gandhi before deciding not to. She turns to Vincent.

“I’m sorry he’s being an asshole, he’s going through somethings...” she readjusted her posture and continued

“Anyway, I’ll make sure he doesn’t bother you anymore, Capeesh?”

Van Gogh nodded

“Capeesh.” He said with a weak smile

She smiled back ,said her goodbyes, and set off towards school.

Vincent went back inside. He shut the door, then ran to his room. Hurling himself against his bed once more. He let out all the emotions he just experienced ,all at once. He couldn’t show them before because he had to remain calm and cool in front of the others. It was such a load bearing task that he had to carry every day. But it was okay, because he made it. He was going to be ok. He had to remind himself of that often.

He open the orange bottle with the white lid and slid two pills into his hand. He looked at them for a second and the popped them in his mouth. He usually didn’t dry swallow but he wanted them now. He didn’t want to wait this time. He shoved the bottle into his bag and left the house. Off to school he went.

Meanwhile JFK was just waking up. JFK awoke with his mind feeling a bit dizzy. He refocused his vision a little and then got up for school. He put on some clothes that were clean enough for his taste. He went to the mirror to style up his hair, which was at the moment, a disaster. He cleaned it up and put heaps of hairspray and gel into it. He decided it was suitable for the day, then he walked his way downstairs.

“Hi dads” he said

“Morning, baby” Wally responded

He gobbled down the food on his plate. He didn’t even know what he was eating, he was too focused on the task at hand that he had given himself last night.

He threw on his backpack full of homework he didn’t even start and made his way to school confidently. He was going to do this. He was going to talk to van Gogh without scaring him away. He had just the plan to do so.

He dragged himself out the door and onto the sidewalk. making his way to school. Which he lived reasonably close to. 

He walked into the cold crisp hallways of Clone High. There wasn’t as many people as there was usually. He must have arrived a bit early. He got to his locker and opened it up. He stared at it for a few seconds. It was mostly empty, he didn’t use it a lot. All that was in there was a few crumbled up pieces of paper, a drawing of a penis in sharpie on the side of locker ,and his letterman jacket for situations where it came in handy.

He threw his bag into the locker and shut it without a second thought. Now to find Van Gogh and win him over.


	4. Oh no

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh no

The bell rings and Van Gogh arrives to his first class of the day. 

Lucky, He didn’t have this class with JFK. He was going to try to avoid him as much as possible. He wouldn’t want to make an embarrassment of himself, again. He takes a seat and class starts. He grabs his sketchbook out of his backpack And lays it on his desk.

He usually didn’t pay attention in class, this lead to his grades not being the best. What he did use this time for was to draw. Which is the only thing He really cared about.

He picked up the thin pencil. He starts by lightly sketching an outline. Then He shades in the darker spots. He draws a nose and an eye, slowly detailing it more and more until it resembles a person. He knows this person and He had drawn him many times before, JFK. He won’t admit this to anyone, not even himself, but he did think he’s was a little bit hot. He was not gay though.

It’s not gay to think another man is objectively hot. It doesn’t mean He was attracted to him. That would be gay, and He was not gay. Van Gogh told himself this often.

He looked down at his finished sketch. It’s a pencil drawn picture of JFK smiling with his eyes closed. His stomach fills with butterflies when He look at it. He closed the book and put it back where it came from. Class ends and He runs off to his next class, art.

He walked into art class, very cautious. He could feel dread sink in as He stepped into the art room. He was the first one there, as per usual. He took his seat in the back of the classroom. 

The back of the classroom was the worst part of the entire room. The desks in the back were missing screws and one was missing a leg. The desks were covered in marker, probably from the kids that had summer school. The only reason he sat there was because no one else wanted to, He wanted to distance himself from them. He had many reasons for this, one reason being because he wouldn’t consider them good people to be around, especially Picasso. They also hated him. That wasn’t that different from anybody else at clone high. If he were them, he would hate him too.

The class eventually starts and everyone gets to painting, as usual. Van Gogh looked at the painting rack, they were removed already. Picasso most likely did it so that he wouldn’t get in trouble. He could care less considering everything else that has been happenings lately.

He gets to painting. He grabs some paints, mostly consisting of light blues and dark purples. His paint brush glides across the canvas with ease. Painting gives him joy, it puts him in his own little bubble. Everything around him disappears and all that’s left is him and the canvas. 

The bell rings, and He packs his stuff up. He puts away everything he used and he walk out of the classroom. He walk to my locker, avoiding everything and everyone. He reached his destination, a shiny red locker. He unlocked the metal box and stuck his stuff in it, only to have his locker shut on his hand. He retracted his arm almost instantly. 

“What the fu-“

“Hello, Fagot” Picasso spoke with spite dripping from his words.

“What the hell do you want” 

“I want you to stop doing art, it’s an embarrassment to all the other artists who actually put effort into there art.”

He felt his heart fall to his stomach. He just wanted to cry right then and there. Even though it’s stupid for him to get this emotional this quickly, he couldn’t help it.

“no” a soft no was all he could think of. He couldn’t speak to loud or his voice would crack. 

“Well, I think you should-“

“And I think you should fuck off” He slammed his locker and walked away. He continued to pick up his speed in till He broke into a full on sprint.

“Fuck” He said as he slammed face first into JFK. 

“S-sorry, I didn’t mean too” He said trying to dodge him. His voice started to break and tears blurred his vision. JFK blocked him from leaving.

“What’s the rush, short stack?” He says obviously not realizing that Vincent was about to have a mental breakdown.

“I need to leave this school” He said hoping that will help himself out of this situation in some way or another.

“You wanna, uh, ditch school together” he ask nonchalantly as if he did that everyday.

“Really?” He ask not expecting that

“Yeah, let’s go”

He leads Van Gogh to what He thinks is a teachers longe. He walks into it without thinking twice. The room is littered with coffee straws and water bottles. In the lounge is another door. He pulls a set of keys from is pocket. Its unlocks the door leading to the parking lot. 

“Where do you wanna go?” He ask

“Somewhere far away” Van Gogh’s tears have subsided with the help of his sleeves. But the emotions that caused them continue to exist within him.

He nods and stars walking. Even though he’s going at a slow pace the short artist has trouble keeping up. John stares down at his lack of hight.

“Need, er, help?”

“Nah, just slow down a bit.” He says out of breath already. 

“I got an idea” he exclaims. He picks the smaller boy up and places him on his shoulders.

That’s not what He thought would happen. Vincent’s face heats up a little, and he would be lying if He said He didn’t enjoy it at least a little bit. John picks up his pace now that he doesn’t have to wait for Van Gogh to catch up. A soft breeze lightly dust the smaller man’s face. 

“Is that okay”

“Yea, its fine” 

It was more than just fine, it was enjoyable. He got used to the felling of being so high up pretty quickly.

After several minutes of walk they arrived at jfk’s house.

“Aren’t you worried we will get in trouble for leaving school early?”

“Scudworth could care, er, less”

Anyone could’ve guess that. 

JFK takes Gogh off his shoulders and puts him into a red limo. He notices the car somewhat resembled what JFK’s clone father was killed in. It’s a bit odd but Van Gogh chose not to question it.

JFK jumps into the drivers side of the car and turns the keys. With a roar the engine starts up and they were on there way to... wait, where were they going.

“Hey JFK”

“You can call me john”

“Hey John ”

“Yeah?”

“Where are we going”

“You’ll see” he says it with an almost mischievous smile. The artist was worried yet intrigued. It’s was kinda comfortable in a distorted sense of the word.

Who would of thought that the pitiful artist would ever being riding in a car with John F Kennedy. It all felt so surreal to him.

The car comes to a sudden stop. He peek out of the window to see where they were. Trees?

They were in a forest. He opened the car door and jumped out of the car. He underestimated how far away the ground was and ended up falling into his knees. They just buckled under him when He stepped out of the car. 

Before he even got the chance to stand up he was pulled up by John. 

“You alright there, short stack”

“Yea, I’m alright” 

Van Gogh smiled up at him. It was nice of him to make sure he was okay, even though that was the bare minimum.

John turns away from Van Gogh and blushes. 

‘Stupidly adorable Artist always making me feel things’ he thought

“Well that’s good, er uh, follow me” 

The way he said it was a bit awkward. But Vincent understood what he was trying to say, and that was all that mattered.

Van Gogh followed him deep into the trees. The The light shined down through the the tree tops and down onto them. They stopped when they arrived at a sunflower field. The yellow petals of the gigantic flowers beamed down at them.

“Woah” was all Vincent could come up with. He was flabbergasted. This was awesome. It reminded Van Gogh of a painting his clone father made.

And it reminded John of Van Gogh.

“This is a bit out of character for you” Said Van Gogh looking up at the ten foot tall flowers.

“Well, I did it for you. I knew you, er, liked sunflowers, so I thought you would like this.” 

“I do, thank you”

“No problem, I was, er, going to take you here after school but I found you sooner than I expected and, uh, you looked like you wanted to run away so I did what I, er, did. Why did you, er, look so spooked, if you don’t mind me asking?”

That question snapped Vincent right back to reality. He completely forgot that he was skipping school for a hot minute. 

“I don’t mind at all” 

this was sort of a lie, he wanted to get this off of his chest but he was also a bit nervous about it, though the pills he took that morning gave him a bit of confidence. 

“Picasso was being a jerk, that’s all.”

Van Gogh wasn’t saying the whole truth but he did say more than he would usually. So that was a big step for him, even if It was small.

“Well, if you want I can, er uh, give him a knuckle sandwich for ya.” John offered

“Nah, it’s fine”

“If ya, er, say so. But if I ever catch him messing with you can bet ya ass Ill teach him a lesson” 

John was a little worked about knowing someone was being mean to Vincent. It made him upset and he wasn’t sure why.

“No, no, it’s really okay, I don’t mind” Jesus Christ, how many times was Van Gogh going to lie.

After a minute of awkward silence John spoke up.

“Hey watch this” 

John jumped onto the stem of the flower, attempting to climb it. Unfortunately, this was a bad idea. The flower could not withstand the weight of John and both the flower and JFK fell down. 

“Ouch” John said as he rubbed is head. 

“You’re hopeless” Van Gogh deadpanned.

Vincent walked over to the broken flower stem and picked it up. After it had snapped the flower was only six feet tall. Making it so Van Gogh could pick it up with ease.

“Why are you still on the ground?” He asked John, who was looking at him funny.

“I like the view” John said looking up at the artist.

Soon after those words left John’s mouth he was whacked in the head with the sunflower.

“Owww, wha, staap it” JFK laughed as he blocked the sun flower from actually hitting him with his arm. 

Once Vincent decided that was enough he slumped down in front of John.

His face was red with embarrassment.

“I was just being honest” he said cheekily 

“Shut up”

John laid down onto the soft grass. This was the happiest he had been in a while.

“Okay, short stack”

They sat there in comfortable silence for a while. 

Soon the sun fell and It became night time. 

JFK some how fell asleep. And Van Gogh was still awake.

Van Gogh didn’t feel comfortable sleeping outside like this so he decided he would wake John up so they could fall asleep in his car, rather than on the grass.

“Hey, John” he shook the jock lightly waking him up.

“Yeah” his voice was raspy and tired with a heavy Boston accent. 

Vincent’s face heated up a bit.

“Can we go back to your car?”

“Yeah, er, sure”

They walked back to john’s car. They both hopped into the back seat of the car.

JFK instantly doze off. 

And not to long after Van Gogh drifted off to sleep as well.


End file.
